


Not So Super

by MeltyRum



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyRum/pseuds/MeltyRum
Summary: Cyberbats.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Generic_Roleplay_Cyberpunk





	Not So Super

The steely skyline of San Angeles’s tech center loomed just on the other side of the freshly replaced (and upgraded) floor-to-ceiling window pane of Bruce Wayne’s office, offering a view of towering skyscrapers and arcologies, whose roots could sometimes be seen meeting the street far below, were they not crowded out by smaller buildings or dense alleyways once ground level approached. Even if the healthy traffic of hoppers and other urban aircraft wasn’t there to get in the way, there was no way to spot the individual denizens of the city from up here—not unless they moved in a sizable crowd.

As it just so happened, there _was_ such a crowd parading the streets to day, and it was at this moment that they were passing the view of Wayne’s office.

They likely had not passed this way on accident.

He called up a news feed to his virt display in order to confirm his suspicions: Human First, many of which had brought their signature sledgehammers to the “parade”, their blunt metallic heads even occasionally sporting the splatter of grayish coolant or golden-black machine oil, as though _this_ crowd had just returned from the hunt…

It was probably all a prop, but distasteful nonetheless. _Efficiency and Profit or Human Life?_ asked one of the many banners and signs bobbing up and down throughout the crowd—with some others demanding labor solutions reform while others still employed much cruder language, espousing fear and vitriol and loathing against androids, Lilim, clones, or anything that resembled the above.

How much of that was out of concern for work shortages? How much was from the sanctity of the human body—a revolt against the acceleration of the transhumanist movement that the existence of androids, clones, and biochips had engendered? And then how much of that was just… hate for the sake of hatred? A need to be insular. _Racism_ , for lack of a better word.

For some reason, Clark came momentarily to mind. What might happen if the man had found himself somewhere in that mass of anti-robot activists? He might be rather cross with them… or he might try to engage with them a little more gently; it was a little too easy to picture both scenarios, and Bruce wasn’t certain that Clark could make a significant difference in either one. When crowds got like this, it always began to seem as though there was no point attempting to change anybody’s mind. Much easier, then, to try and influence in other ways, with shifts in policy, markets, media… and perhaps more clandestine or insidious means of shaping the thoughts of the city’s citizens.

Well, that was—of course—the kind of corporate attitude they hated most. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t _work…_ and for better or worse, Humanity First likely had allies in high places who acted the very same way.

Clark would probably hate that kind of thing, too; in some ways, he was quite a lot like those people down in the street preaching their abhorrence of “unnatural life”. The man didn’t share any of their _ideals_ , of course, but he—unlike Bruce—seemed to hold a perspective of humanity that remained… nearer to ground, for lack of a better term. He was a “normal” man who had grown up under primarily “normal” circumstances, with the only real exception being the type of friends he ended up keeping. Clark’s relationship to his fellow man was less… _practical_ than Bruce’s own.

Perhaps the best way to describe it would be like this: he was like a man from a different era—an era that might only be viewed in holos which emulated film of humanity as it had appeared centuries ago, when urban centers punctuated states rather than controlling them, ideologically and physically; a time where there had existed entities that sounded more like legend than history: “suburbs” where people kept their own several thousand square foot homes, located on properties twice that size, with green yards and little white fences comprised of honest-to-goodness wood…

This kind of luxury still existed today, of course… but for whom?

It was a world of the past that was akin to the one Kon had claimed to come from; could that be why Clark Kent was chosen to be the genetic source of these clones? Because he reminded the maker—Lex Luthor, if Bruce allowed himself to jump to the most obvious conclusion—of a story of some man torn straight from those pages of history—the ones which concerned themselves with 1900s Americana? Clark had mentioned an old fascination with ancient comic books; was there really anything about Clark Kent that would form the basis for a good superhero…?

Maybe.

Bruce sat back down at his desk, doing his very best to move his train of thought onto a different rail when his eye was caught by the untouched takeout container at one end of his desk. He sighed, pulling it closer and inspecting the contents, although he felt rather certain that he had neither the time nor the appetite to make anything of it. Still, it wasn’t the first time Clark had decided to take time out of his day to try visiting with gifts of coffee and afternoon lunch—a disturbance both he _and_ his secretarial staff had been wholly unprepared for.

The first time Clark had come… well, that was also the first time any romantic interest of Bruce’s had visited him at work, so it was a shame (if not necessarily surprising) that the CEO of WayneCorp was faced with a schedule strict enough that he could not necessarily make the time to welcome his boyfriend—in person—to the company, let alone with open arms. Not without an appointment, anyway. But… they had been better about finding moments that might work, ever since that first attempt.

After his cursory examination of the container was complete, he pushed the food away.

Probably it would have to go to waste. Clark’s generosity was no good to someone who may not be able to accept all of it; Bruce couldn’t help but worry that this might end up becoming a defining characteristic of their relationship.

And when he thought that, he was no longer thinking of _food_ , of course.

Clark wasn’t exactly in danger of homelessness, but he didn’t _have_ much. This didn’t stop him from offering, however—constantly. And for Bruce, it was nearly the opposite: he had so much—could obtain virtually anything that he liked, if he so desired—and would certainly share (somewhat) freely with Clark, just as the other did for him, but… Bruce could still only give what he had. “What he had” might include a staggering amount of things, but they didn’t necessarily include those qualities that it took to maintain a successful relationship.

It was for this reason that a very small piece of him wondered if they might not last. Clark would always be putting more into the relationship than _he_ was; that was just going to be the reality of things. It would be up to Clark whether or not that was acceptable.

And it’s not as though Bruce wasn’t planning to _try._ He liked Clark. _Everyone_ liked Clark, even if Bruce (arguably) liked him more; their friendship had come a very long way, and while he never would have expected it to become anything more than brotherly love… well, here they were. _Friendship_ was no longer enough to describe what they had together; Bruce was meant to be Clark’s new Lois, and Clark was to be Bruce’s… Talia?

A wry smile came to his face at the thought.

In many ways, being with Clark was the complete opposite of seeing a dangerous assassin—one with many other dangerous assassins dancing on her strings. It would be hard for Bruce to claim that the two of them had once shared _love_ , but it had certainly been a relationship filled to the brim with excitement and drama. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it had gone well _past_ the brim with excitement and drama.

Which would make Clark the other plate on the scale. It wouldn’t be fair to say that the man from Smallville was “boring”, but it was also true that words like “excitement” and “drama” didn’t come to mind, either. But on the same token, where dating a supervillainess was dangerous and troublesome, seeing someone like Clark was… _convenient_ , in more ways than just the obvious, and Bruce would be too embarrassed to list them all out—even to himself.

It was probably enough that Clark understood Batman’s mission; not every flame would be able to do so, even if they somehow learned about it. That gave Clark—and himself—a rather sizable advantage. No matter how one looked at it, having a long-term romantic interest was potentially compromising to Batman’s identity… but this was a depressing line of logic to follow, since that could go for anyone that meant anything to Bruce. And in any case, it was this reasoning that also made Clark an appealing mate: Clark had chosen to make things work with him even _after_ he’d learned that it was Bruce Wayne beneath the cowl.

This alone would make the relationship worth pursuing, so perhaps it could be considered a _bonus_ that Clark’s positive qualities were the type that shone brightly. In many ways, Clark was the man that Bruce had always wished that he could be—which, again, made it odd to be _dating_ the man—but from that angle, it seemed that dating Clark Kent could only be a good thing—not just for Bruce Wayne, but for Batman. Sometimes he could get lost in his work, Bruce knew, so having the ideal American father—one straight from the 1900s—on hand to ground him would likely be best for everyone.

It would be odd, thought Bruce, letting someone “attend” to him, emotionally and physically and every way in between. No one had filled a role like that since… well…

A notification spread across the surface of his desk, accompanied by a jaunty little tune from a pan flute, which fully lifted Bruce from his reverie. Bruce frowned when he looked at the time, both surprised and disappointed to have been so absorbed into his own thoughts. He swiped a hand across the desk in order to accept the meeting reminder, rising to his feet before making his way out of the freshly varnished doors of his office and leaving behind all thoughts of affection in the process.


End file.
